


Wither in the Light

by bold_seer



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Dubious Consent, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magic Made Them Do It, POV Tony Stark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-29
Updated: 2019-11-29
Packaged: 2021-02-13 04:48:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21488593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bold_seer/pseuds/bold_seer
Summary: “You’ve hurt people. Been hurt.”
Relationships: Tony Stark/Stephen Strange
Comments: 1
Kudos: 26
Collections: Hurt Comfort Flash Exchange





	Wither in the Light

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bonster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bonster/gifts).

“Don’t know what you’re planning,” Tony bites out. “Probably regret it later.” Even this version of Strange wouldn’t hurt him. He could. Which is everything Tony fears about magic.

“Your tech won’t work in here,” Strange tells him, aloof and pointed. Home, but not, mirror corners and razor edges. Like this place.

His skin prickles with restlessness. They’re in a snow globe of reality. Air thick with magic, like a witchy brew, bubbling in a cauldron. Strange, his cloak, slapped him for leaning against one. Magic, Strange, strange magic drawing out the worst of Tony. He wants to act up.

“You’ve hurt people. Been hurt.” Strange steps towards him, gets in his face, like he does. Maybe Tony’s usually the one in his personal space. Frozen still, Tony remembers Stane, reaching inside him. He doesn’t know what he expects. Not Strange sinking smoothly to his knees. Based on past encounters, odds were low for that. Strange adds, a murmur, “I won’t hurt you.”

The shards of Strange, with the most destructive side of himself. Some part of Tony is able to make mature, rational decisions. His mouth, when he isn’t mouthing off. His mind, when he embraces it. “Going to stop dusting the floor?”

“If you want me to.” Strange sounds entirely neutral, not looking up, fingertips tracing the seams of Tony’s pants, up to his waist. In a moment of dark comedy, Tony thinks he won’t get them open. Next second, Tony is naked to his knees. A full-body shiver goes through him.

“_I_ want you to keep still and listen.” The goatee is scratchy against Tony’s thighs. They both like controlling their environments, but Strange likes being in control. Every breath he takes is measured, every move meticulous and rehearsed.

“Not hearing anything yet.” Tony always talks back. Loud and clear, actually. Look at _that_. He twirls his hand in the air, the universal sign of _get going_.

Despite taking the driver’s seat, Strange isn’t in control either. He doesn’t know what Strange thinks, about this, Tony, but then, he never does. Now his undivided attention is focused on Tony. Dark magic kills all inhibitions. Strange excels at translating any theory into action. Perfectly in control, demonstrating his proficiency in an entirely new area. Getting off on it, too, at least on some level, keeping Tony in suspense. The guy with a dick in his mouth holds the power. Nothing new there.

Tony’s favourite philosophy: more is more. He thinks, _that all you got_, and Strange responds, shaky touch, brushing behind his balls. Right hand, one finger. Big, bigger than Tony’s. Patiently, with determination, Strange works it inside, a twisted parody of a doctor’s visit. It should hurt. Doesn’t. Magic finger, all lubed up. It should hurt Strange. He shouldn’t -

In that moment, Strange is the one person in the world equally capable of destroying Tony and making him whole again. Too much, not enough. Tony slides deeper into his willing mouth - Strange, his pale face flushed from the strain, Tony has no choice, Strange didn’t leave him one, he never had a choice either - and comes down his throat. Spent, overwhelmed, Tony breathes.

Out of the trance, Strange blinks slowly. His left hand, with the long ring thing, covers his lips for an instant. He taps the right one in the air. Tony’s dressed again. Strange gets up. Hoarsely, he asks, “Are you okay?”

“That was weird,” says Tony. That was Strange. It was great. Painfully good, out of his control. “We’re okay.”

“_Tony._” The low, dubious note, neither a question nor a challenge, trails away. Strange places his hands on Tony’s arm, very carefully. Instead of tensing up, Tony basks in the warmth. Nothing hurts, as if nothing in his life ever did.

“Yeah,” Tony decides. He twines their fingers together, with startling caution. “We’re good.”


End file.
